


if we're sinners then it feels like heaven to me

by cookiethewriter



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire Academy Fusion, Blood Drinking, Guardian!Dean, Implied Relationships, M/M, Vampire!Roman, but it was a quick substitute, didn't pan out lmao, for what i originally had planned which, hoo boy it's been a Long Time since i've written about vampires, supernatural summer challenge, the blood drinking isn't graphic or anything, this is not originally how i'd write a vampire au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 17:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19469074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethewriter/pseuds/cookiethewriter
Summary: (for hardcorewwetrash on tumblr's supernatural summer challenge!)prompt#4: "I don't trust myself but I do trust you and that's good enough!" creature: vampire





	if we're sinners then it feels like heaven to me

**Author's Note:**

> hey! i did a challenge! (i've done one before, back in the wintery months, but i never came up with a title for it. if it's something you'd want to read - kind of an ambreigns/female oc kinda thing - let me know! otherwise, the only place you can read it is on tumblr*. just search up 'winter writing challenge' -i think- on my profile!)
> 
> if i ever do a vampire au, it won't be like this one. this au was one born of convenience, but i don't hate it. the works by richelle mead ('vampire academy', which this is based on, and all the ones after, and the spinoff series 'bloodlines') are ones i adore, but i'll always have a skepticism when it comes to writing about vampires. anyone who knows my writing history will know why, but for those who don't, i won't bore you. 
> 
> onward, heathens!

Ambrose hadn’t always thought he was cut out to be a guardian. Sure, he had the right genetic make-up, since his father was  _ technically _ a vampire royal - whose name even sounded it: Regal - and his mother  _ had _ been human, once, when she was alive. But it was the kind of situation where he wasn’t ever close to  _ either _ of his parents or his lineage, so he’d not really found a use for something like being a guardian. Well, that was until he was introduced to the King, Queen and their son, Prince (but don’t call him ‘Princey’, apparently) Roman. 

Like all vampire royalty, Roman was extremely beautiful. His family was from Samoa, so his features were different from that of vampires in the States: long, dark hair that he usually kept in either a neat bun or down over his shoulders. Vampires where  _ Ambrose _ grew up were all slight, tall and thin and pale, but Roman was tall and a little thicker and had warm, tan skin. All vampires were beautiful, so it didn’t surprise him nor was that the reason that he decided to  _ be _ his guardian, no. 

They were not fast friends, but they became best friends when they stopped dancing around each other. The want to keep his best friend safe had happened after that. Plus, it gave him an excuse to get violent when necessary, sometimes even kill - something he didn’t feel strongly about one way or the other, but he’d do it if he needed to - if one of those evil vampires was involved. 

There were two kinds of vampires: the ‘mortal’ kind, who fed off human blood but couldn’t turn someone, called Moroi. The second kind, the ‘immortal’ kind, was made instead of born, and could only be killed using a silver stake. They are called Strigoi, and are lethal and evil, and Ambrose would be damned if he or Roman ever became something like that, like…

...he wakes up in the dead of night to the feeling of dread, and he sits up with a groan when he realizes why. 

Sitting up in bed and scooting off to find the slippers he kept on the bottom of his bed for nights like this one, he plods toward his bedroom door and scuttles down the hall to where he knows his vampire companion is asleep. They were holed up at a safe house currently, under orders from the head of the vampire council. Ambrose’s first priority would always be Roman, so he’d removed him from where danger had heightened in the past year with Strigoi activity. Of course, that meant they were  _ both _ holed up, because he wasn’t about to ditch his partner.

And, speaking of his partner:

When Ambrose gets to Roman’s bedroom door, he just pushes his way through, ignoring pleasantries like knocking in favor of getting to him as soon as possible. He could tell even in the dark that Roman was listlessly awake, and after walking right up to stand at the side of his bed, he reaches a hand out to rest on his chest and shakes him awake. “Hey. Rome. Wake up.” 

When Roman wakes up, he sounds pained, and it’s only when he’s able to take Ambrose in that he calms down. His eyes are a piercing silver, which really only means one thing, and it makes Ambrose curse to himself that they didn’t manage to snag a feeder before they got settled in. If Roman doesn’t feed, he could start  _ really _ suffering, though that’s mostly because he’s got enough self-awareness to not prey on anybody. Plus, it was no secret to anyone what happened to Ambrose’s mother, so it gave incentive to make sure the same didn’t happen to him. 

“Dean,” Roman pants, digging the heel of his hand into his eyes one by one, before sitting up too. “What are you doing here?” 

Ambrose - Dean - regards his friend with a knowing look, raising an eyebrow; there were few pairs who could feel each other’s pain, knew what each other was thinking, were bonded in ways that surpass a normal relationship. Dean and Roman were not among those few, but they’d spent so much time together, it was often a surprise when they admitted they weren’t. Roman’s powers had nothing to do with Spirit. If they were to be bonded that way - ‘spirit bonded’, it was called - Roman would have had to bring Dean back from the brink of death, and it would only be Dean that would be bonded to Roman, could feel his pain, his fear, his thoughts… but, such wasn’t the case. 

They were just really, almost  _ too _ , close. 

“As much as ...ngh, you think that’s an answer, it isn’t.” Roman rubs his hands along his jaw, but he tries to cover it up by rubbing at his neck. 

“You were moaning in your sleep,” Dean says. “And, not the fun kind, either. And I know all about that.” Roman narrows his eyes, and Dean doesn’t react to it. “I know that sound, and I know you’re hungry. I’m sure there’s somewhere I can find a feeder if--”

“I’ll be fine. It’s not too much longer, right?” Dean’s lips thin into a line, pensive. “Did anyone say how much longer?” 

“No. Rome… if you’re not gonna let me find a feeder…”

He doesn’t get mad often. Annoyed, a little frustrated, but rarely mad. In that moment, Dean can see the silver in his eyes flash brighter in warning. It’s about the only thing about Roman that uneased him. “Are you crazy? How could you even suggest that?”

All Dean does is chuckle. “You act like that’s the most horrible thing we’ve done.” 

The anger recedes, and a nice blush burns Roman’s face. Dean chuckles again, before he gets onto the bed and scoots his way closer. He sees the tortured way Roman looks at him, at his neck- how his tongue licks across his bottom lip and the tips of his white fangs are just visible as his hunger starts to set in the more aware he gets. “Dean… please don’t.” 

“Rome, you know what’ll happen if we don’t. Besides, I know how aware you are of the risk. Trust you.”

That seems to burn Roman in a way his own fire never could, and he gulps. His face starts moving toward Dean, who moves his neck to the side. Dean’s hand comes up, at first to hold the back of Roman’s hand, but he changes his mind and spreads his fingers across the back of Roman, damp with sweat but not to an uncomfortable degree. Roman’s face tucks into his neck. “Well,  **I don’t trust myself. But I** **_do_ ** **trust you, so.** ” A tongue swipes at an area on Dean’s neck, and he closes his eyes. “ **That’s good enough.** ”

When Roman’s fangs dig into his flesh, there’s a sweltering, white-hot pain that hits him first. He’s not had many vampires bite him, and Roman didn’t bite  _ him _ often. He much preferred to have a feeder so that he  _ wouldn’t _ have to, not to Dean, not with his family’s history. 

Not with Dean’s mother drinking the blood of a Strigoi and being driven slowly mad by it, turning so corrupt that she’d almost killed him as an infant before Regal had called upon the guardians to put her down. He’d not wanted any part of it, and once Dean was old enough to start training to become a guardian, he’d sent him off, too. 

Dean had heard from a feeder that a vampire’s bite hurt at first - ‘hurt’ was an understatement, but okay - but felt like something akin to an orgasm when the pain melted away. The pain has started to recede, and the sound of Roman drinking from him sets something off in Dean’s stomach, and it’s impossible not to ignore the way his body proves that what the feeder said was right. It’s a different kind of heat now, sweltering, hot and heavy as it were. When Roman has to pause to take a breath, his tongue pressed against the holes at Dean’s neck, they both pant in unison. Sweat’s started to dot their skin now. 

Roman doesn’t drink too much longer, and although Dean’s a little lust-drunk and doesn’t really realize until the haze settles, he manages to lick the holes clean and puts a large band-aid over the punctures. It takes Dean a minute or two, but when his vision is tinged with white, he sits straight, regards Roman, and tries to regulate his breathing with steady, deep breaths. 

Roman isn’t looking at him. His face is hidden by his long hair, a thick curtain of his well-cared for dark-dark brown, and Dean gulps. He’s not good at talking. Or, he is, but not about things like this, things that are emotional. 

“Rome?” 

“I’m …  _ sorry _ . I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

_ Don’t be. _ He wants to say.  _ This was my idea.  _

“Hey.” He says instead. “Hey, look at me.” 

Roman doesn’t for a good long minute. The kind of minute that feels like ten, or twenty, or fifty. But when he does, his eyes are puffy, and Dean looks at his face, how much more alive he looks - and Dean knows it sounds like an ironic statement, but Roman wasn’t ‘undead’. The Strigoi were the undead vampires - and it makes him smile involuntarily at the thought that his blood did that. Brought him back to his full liveliness, sort of. There are dots of red along the inner pink of Roman’s lips, and Dean gulps, before he leans in and kisses him. 

He doesn’t have an affinity for the taste of blood, he finds, but he didn’t do it to taste the remnants of his blood on his lips. Dean kissed him to feel the way Roman pushes back, into it, his hand tangling in the back of Dean’s buzz-short hair and holding him there, close to him, and Dean smiles into it, holds Roman’s face in both of his hands. 

They fall asleep tangled up in bed, Dean stretched out on top of the thin sheet and Roman underneath, the thicker top blanket kicked off. Roman’s curled up, facing Dean, and while Dean is facing the ceiling with his legs spread wide and his mouth open as he snores through a once-broken nose, his hand sits in the middle of their bodies, and one of Roman’s is clutched, warm and loose, inside it. 

_ So let’s be sinners to be saints, _

_ And if we’re sinners then it feels like heaven to me. _

**Author's Note:**

> *i'm cookiethewriter on tumblr!


End file.
